No More Hiding
by tutncleo
Summary: Summary: Sometimes looks aren't enough. Sometimes you really do have to talk. After the events of "Flesh and Blood", Tony and Gibbs find themselves at just such a crossroads. Slash, don't read if you don't like.
1. Chapter 1

**No More Hiding**

**Part One**

_A/N: This story is in the same universe as my "Hiding and Seeking". It contains spoilers for "Flesh and Blood_"_, "Ignition", and possibly other episodes yet to be determined._

Unbelievable…..this was turning into the month from hell, Gibbs thought, as he stood waiting for the elevator. It had begun with jet packs, and now apparently, they were going to have to deal with an assassination attempt on a spoilt rotten Arab prince, which was bound to turn into a political nightmare. And those were just the work related irritations; there had been plenty of others along the way.

It started last week, when Tony had let one of his old college roommates, Biff –'Who in the hell was really named Biff?' he asked himself for the umpteenth time – talk him into taking a 'final fling' cruise during what would have been their spring break, had they still been undergraduates at Ohio State, rather than grown men who were fast approaching middle age. 'Biff' had some insider deal with the cruise line, and they could get discounted rates as long as they bought their tickets within the next two weeks. Gibbs had heard Tony assure him that wouldn't be a problem, and although he had no idea where the money was going to come from, he'd have cut off his own left hand before he would have allowed himself ask. That would have been breaking one of their unspoken rules. Gibbs had taken himself to the basement before Tony had even hung up, not wanting to hear him jabber on about how much fun the trip was going to be.

He'd known he was being petty. Tony didn't have to ask for his permission to go on a trip with his buddies; that wasn't how their relationship worked. He wasn't Tony's father, they were both adults, and they were each free to do as they pleased. That was the way it had always been, those were the rules, though they'd never really discussed it. But as Tony had sat in the living room, laughing, joking and making plans with 'Biff' over the phone, Gibbs had to work to squelch his jealousy. Putting some distance between them had seemed like the best strategy to him. In the end, they'd spent most of their only free evening that week apart, rather than together.

Gibbs hadn't had long to wonder about the mysterious source for Tony's travel money. The next morning - while he was supposed to be working - Tony had called some bank to access his trust fund, only to discover he couldn't because his father was still listed as the controlling trustee. A trust fund…. they'd been together for the better part of eight years, and he'd never known Tony had a trust fund. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised, he reminded himself. It wasn't as if they'd ever had a conversation about Tony's family. Gibbs was aware of the basics - Tony's mom was dead, his father was a wealthy businessman, he was an only child – but that was it. Sure, he knew he could have used his resources at NCIS to learn more, but he hadn't. That would have felt like betraying Tony's trust. Instead, he'd listened carefully when, over the years, Tony would occasionally let little bits of information slip out. From these Gibbs had patched together a profile of what he thought Tony's childhood had been like, lonely and sad, which was probably why Tony had learned to bury himself in the fantasy worlds of TV and film. He was sure that Tony's mother had been an alcoholic, based on a remark Tony once made about her mistakenly drinking his pet sea monkeys. And it certainly sounded as if his father had been less than attentive. Tony had been shunted off to boarding schools; and once apparently, he'd even been left alone for two days in a hotel room in Hawaii. Gibbs knew they weren't close now. In all the years Tony had been working at NCIS, Tony hadn't even once gone to NY for a visit, and his father hadn't come to DC. He'd wondered about that, couldn't understand it, but had never asked. That would have opened him up to questions from Tony about his family, and he wasn't prepared to go there. Yet another unspoken rule; maybe he needed to start numbering them, so he, at least, could keep them all straight. Shaking his head, he resumed thinking about last week as he stalked into the elevator and jammed his finger against the control panel.

When he gave the lead to McGee on the jet pack case, he had told himself it was because McGee was so knowledgeable on the topic, but a part of him knew that it was also a way of poking at Tony. Not that it had seemed to matter, though. Tony hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed. Normally that would have pleased Gibbs; he would have viewed it as more proof that Tony really had matured as an agent, and that his self confidence issues had improved. Instead, Gibbs had only ended up being more annoyed, both with Tony and with himself. After they'd solved the mystery of the murder, Tony had resumed trying to straighten out the mess at his bank. Again Gibbs had refused to comment, although he'd derived no small amount of satisfaction over Tony's frustration with his inability to access his money, or to reach his father over the phone. The quick glare Tony had sent in his direction as he slammed the phone down Friday afternoon, after leaving yet another message for his father, suggested that he'd been less than successful at hiding how he felt. He'd felt a twinge of guilt at that, and had vowed to let the whole thing go, to move on.

As he rode down to the bullpen, he smiled to himself as his thoughts turned to the weekend. It had actually gone pretty well. They'd spent most of it hanging around his house being lazy, eating when they felt like it, reading, watching the occasional movie, and making love. Neither one of them broached the subject of the 'spring fling', nor Tony's frozen assets. As a matter of fact, the weekend had been so enjoyable that Gibbs had almost forgotten about what had happened the week before. Almost, but not quite. Even as they'd lain in bed - he running his fingers absentmindedly through the younger man's thick but surprisingly soft hair, while his other hand traced little circles across the small of Tony's back - with Tony nestled snuggly against his chest as he slept, he couldn't help thinking about the planned trip, and his surprising reaction to it…..

He wasn't really sure why he disliked the idea of the cruise so much. It wasn't as if he thought Tony would be unfaithful to him. They were past that now. There had been times, at the beginning of their relationship, when he had questioned both his ability to be enough to satisfy his senior agent, and Tony's ability to settle for just one person. He shook his head and grinned wryly when he remembered their first night 'together'. It had come about in an unusual way. Tony had been wounded in an undercover mission that had gone to hell in a hand basket, and when Gibbs had gotten to him, they'd been loading him into an ambulance. Tony had been a mess, unconscious and covered in blood. If the EMTs hadn't been giving him oxygen, Gibbs would have thought he was dead. After one day in the hospital, however, he had managed to finagle a release, with the understanding he not be alone for the next forty-eight hours. Gibbs hadn't even stopped to think about it; he'd just loaded Tony up into his car and taken him to his house so that he could make sure Tony followed the doctor's instructions. That night, though, instead of him watching over Tony, he'd managed to have a series of horrendous nightmares, and Tony had come into his room to make sure he was alright. Tony had gently wakened him up, and before he could even process what was happening, he was kissing his senior agent, who was eagerly kissing him back. They'd spent the better part of that night making out like a couple of horny teenagers, but because of Tony's injuries, he hadn't let it go any farther. Tony had fallen asleep in his arms, and Gibbs had spent the rest of the night studying him while he slept, silently worrying about what the morning would bring.

Tony had surprised him. When he woke up there had been no awkward embarrassment, no shame. Tony had looked up at him, smiled softly, and wished him a good morning. Then the smile had turned more lascivious and he'd said huskily, "Since you said I had to spend tonight here as well, promise me we're going to do more than kiss, Boss."

He hadn't made Tony wait until that night.

Gibbs had been relieved by Tony's direct approach. There hadn't been any exhaustive discussion about what it all meant. They hadn't stopped to lay down ground rules. He wanted Tony, and clearly Tony wanted him. That was good enough for Gibbs. He wasn't prepared to discuss what Tony meant to him, how he had thought his heart would stop when he saw Tony strapped down to that gurney; and he definitely didn't want Tony to expound on his feelings for him. After all, what would he have said if Tony told him he was just in it for a quick fuck? Maybe he'd been a coward, or maybe he'd been selfish, but he had decided not to talk about it. He'd pushed down his desire for too long, and now that it was out, demanding to be satiated, he wasn't willing to jinx things by talking.

So they'd wordlessly explored each other's bodies; grunts, groans, and gasps their only form of communication. He's set the tempo, since it quickly became apparent to him that, caught up in the moment, the younger man was more than willing to totally disregard his own injuries. He'd taken his time, touching and memorizing every inch of Tony's body. If there was never going to be a second time, he wanted to make sure he hadn't left a single inch of him unexplored. He still remembered how he'd felt as he gazed down and watched Tony slowly come undone for the first time – he'd been proud and afraid, all at once.

He would have been lying if he said that he hadn't felt a bit smug over the fact that Tony wanted him. Tony was a peacock; completely aware of his looks, and not at all above using them to get what he wanted. Gibbs had known that there was no shortage of people, men and women, who were more than willing to become his bed partner, but it was his bed Tony had been lying in. Then, in that moment when Tony was on the cusp, as he lay under him, making the needy little moans and whimpers that Gibbs would eventually learn always preceded his release, their eyes had locked and for a second Gibbs had forgotten how to breathe. The green of Tony's eyes had been completely obscured by his pupils, but when he looked up at him, for just an instant everything he was feeling was there, written on his face, completely unmasked. Gibbs saw lust, which he'd expected. And there had been joy and triumph as well. But what he was unprepared for, what shook him to his core, was the trust. Tony was showing him everything, if only for an instant. There, for just one second, was the real Tony; the Tony who was insecure, who could be hurt, who wanted to be loved. And that naked vulnerability had scared him.

Tony ended up spending the entire weekend with him, and on Monday he'd gone back to work, and Tony had gone back to his apartment to continue recuperating. That had been it. He'd called Tony a few times over the course of the next week to see how he was doing, but neither one of them mentioned what had happened between them, and Gibbs wasn't able to bring himself to go see him. Two weeks later, his shoulder almost healed, Tony was back to work, a big plastic smile on his face, and no emotions showing in his eyes. He had been restricted to desk duty, and Gibbs had been thankful when the team had been called out to check on a death threat made against the wife of a naval captain, who was on a tour in the Pacific. That meant he didn't have to see Tony, didn't have to wonder what was going through his mind. When they got back to the Yard, Kate and McGee had filled out their reports, and hurried home. Then it had just been he and Tony, each of them covertly watching the other.

Finally, it had been Tony who had broken down. After turning off his computer, and packing up his stuff, he'd crossed over to Gibbs' desk. Casually slouching in front of it, a slight smirk on his sinful lips, he'd nonchalantly asked, "Hey Boss, want to grab a pizza?"

"Sure, you bring the beer," he'd answered, unable to suppress a smile of relief. And with that a pattern was formed. They ate a pizza that night, and drank the beer, but that wasn't all they shared. Somewhere between the third piece of pizza, the second beer, and the first kiss, unspoken promises were made. Promises they had both tried to uphold over the years. And yet here he was now, irritated over some stupid cruise, and wondering why his gut was screaming at him.

He pushed all that aside when the elevator doors opened. Time to get to work. He'd have to puzzle this out later. Striding into the bullpen, he saw Tony cradling the receiver to his ear. "DiNozzo, get off the phone. Got a dead foreign national - Pax River. Let's go," he barked.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**No More Hiding  
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****Part Two**

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**_A/N: Major spoiler alert! This is the part where we see the events of the "Flesh and Blood" through Gibbs' eyes, in as few pages as I can manage, lol. We'll deal with the fallout of it all in the next installment. __Thanks __to Hilde and Marianne for beta'ing this chapter for me and supplying me with wonderful insight and ideas._ **

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**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Monday – Late Morning xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

'Prince Sayif Ibn Alwaan is a real piece of work,' Gibbs thought, as he slammed the door to the interview room behind him. This case was going to drive him crazy, he was sure of it. First, they'd had to deal with Madame Under Secretary in MTAC and the 'political considerations' of the case. If that weren't aggravating enough, he'd then been subjected to the demands of an overly entitled playboy. The Prince couldn't seem to understand that NCIS was just trying to keep him alive long enough for him to finish his flight certification program, and to get him safely out of the country. Now they were going to have to provide protection for him at the Adams House, a building with 144 guest rooms, and over 2000 people in it at any given time. That was just great….

He'd left Vance in the room with the Prince. Let him babysit Sayif until his agents got there to escort him back to the hotel. He was going to get a cup of coffee, and then he'd go over to the hotel, too, to check on the security detail. Gibbs headed for the elevator to the lobby, enjoying the brief moment of silence.

"Hey Gibbs," Jeff, the young fresh faced Marine on security duty, called out to him as he passed by his check point after stepping off the elevator. Gibbs gave him a quick half smile. He was a good kid, and a third generation Marine. Gibbs had actually served a tour with his dad, back in the day, and he always made a point of stopping and asking after him whenever Jeff was on duty.

"Jeff," he nodded. "How's the old man? Staying out of trouble?"

The kid laughed, his dark brown eyes twinkling. "Don't think he'd capable of that, Gunny." He'd taken to calling Gibbs Gunny, probably because that's how his father referred to him. "It's weird about Mr. DiNozzo, isn't it?"

Christ, what could Tony have done now, that even had the guards down in the lobby talking? "What do you mean?" he asked the boy, preparing himself for anything. Tony's gags and practical jokes were the stuff of legend, although he didn't know where Tony would have found the time to pull something today. Better to find out now, though, rather than later.

"It's strange how much he resembles Tony," Jeff answered.

Gibbs looked at him, his brows knitting together in confusion. What in the hell was he talking about?

"Mr. DiNozzo, Tony's dad," the kid clarified when he saw the bewilderment on Gibbs' face. "It's just like putting Tony's picture through one of those aging machines, they look so alike. And he's smooth like Tony, with the same sense of humor. He had us all laughing while he was waiting here to get his guest pass."

Jeff continued on, telling Gibbs about the jokes DiNozzo Sr. had made, but Gibbs had long since stopped listening. Tony's father was here? All these years, and the man had never put in an appearance, not even when Tony had been sick or wounded. 'What kind of a father was that?' he asked himself bitterly. He felt a tightening in his stomach, as if his gut was saying, "I told you so." This couldn't be good….

"Gunny?" he heard the kid say.

Looking up, he realized that Jeff was standing there studying him. He must have quit talking while he had been thinking.

"Need to get some coffee. Take care," he grunted, and waved his hand as he headed towards the kiosk.

Seconds later, black coffee in hand, he once again stood by the elevators. It was times like these that he wished he still smoked. He could have used the five minutes it would have taken him to smoke a cigarette to pull his thoughts together. 'Damn the screwed up politics of the Arabs,' he silently cursed. There was no way this case wasn't going to be a cluster fuck, and now, on top of everything else, Tony had to deal with his father. The fact Tony had never talked about his dad told Gibbs far more about their relationship than if he had. This was one of Tony's deepest wounds, one that he kept carefully hidden, and never showed anyone, not even Gibbs. How was he going to deal well with it now, when he was embroiled in a case? And what was up with DiNozzo Sr.? Why here, why now?

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Later That Day xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
**

Gibbs stood outside the observation booth, frowning with worry as he watched Tony retreat into the interrogation room, where Mr. DiNozzo still sat.

So far the day had lived up to all of his fears. When he had gone to the hotel this morning to check on things, Sayif had demanded that Ziva be the one to watch him. He hadn't bothered to argue with the arrogant little prick; he'd save that for later. After leaving a pissed off Ziva behind, he'd gone down to the lobby with McGee and Tony, to check on the security detail. Tony had talked non-stop. Tim had tried to ask Tony a couple of questions about his dad, which Tony had deflected by poking fun at McGee. Then he'd started delivering a stand-up comedy routine, polished enough to rival any late night talk show host. Gibbs hadn't been fooled. He knew exactly what his senior agent was doing. That had been Tony in full damage control mode – play the clown, make 'em laugh, never let them get a word in edgewise. He hadn't tried to talk to Tony about his father. There had been no time, nor any opportunity. Besides, he doubted if Tony would have told him anything, not yet. So instead, he'd left Tony at the Adams House to head up the protection detail, and he and McGee had headed back to the Yard, to see what Abby and Ducky had come up with.

This afternoon hadn't shaped up to be any better. First there had been the fiasco in the business center of the hotel, when he'd passed on the NSA's intel on suspicious email chatter originating from there, and ordered Tony to go find out who was sending it. Tony had ended up bursting in, gun drawn, only to discover the person he was pointing it at was his own father. That was certainly a way to cement a broken father/son relationship. Tony had been forced to bring him back here, so he could be questioned. Gibbs wondered what that ride back to the Yard had been like.

He'd just had the dubious pleasure of interrogating DiNozzo Sr. How had Jeff described him? Oh yeah, smooth. Smooth didn't begin to do the man justice; arrogant, condescending, smug, sneaky – all of those were more appropriate descriptions of Tony's father. His opening remark, "You finally get to meet the real Tony DiNozzo," had told him exactly what he was going to think of the man. The 'real Tony DiNozzo' – there wasn't anything real about the man, and he'd be damned if he was going to call that faker Tony. The interview hadn't been very revealing. The minute Senior had known he wasn't in any serious trouble for emailing his associates about the assassination attempt, he'd started subtly making sure Gibbs understood that he thought he was better than him. He'd made a point of calling Prince Omar Ibn Alwaan, "Al" and had yammered on about the service and the food at the overpriced hotel where he was staying, all the while keeping that ingenious smile plastered on his face.

Then, when it was done, he'd come out here, and seen Tony…. There he had been, leaning against the wall, staring at his feet, looking like a condemned man waiting for his execution. So what had he done? Had he said something reassuring to Tony? No, he'd just snapped at him to make sure that his father stayed away from the Alwaan family, he thought guiltily. Tony just took it, as if that was all that he deserved, as if he was somehow responsible for the whole bloody mess. He watched as Tony disappeared into the interrogation room to fetch his father….

Gibbs tore his eyes away from the closed door, told himself to get on with it, and entered the observation room. He wasn't at all surprised to find Abby in there, standing next to Ducky, staring at him like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It didn't take much more than a glare and a quick word to send her scurrying away, leaving him alone with Ducky. Together they gazed through the one-way window, studying the interaction between father and son. Tony didn't seem himself. Gibbs watched as he gathered up his father's coat and hat, which his father left him to carry, as if he were the hired help. DiNozzo Sr. beckoned to Tony with an imperial "Junior" and Gibbs saw Tony steel himself before he turned to follow his father out. He was glad it was just he and Ducky in there. No one else needed to see this interaction. His father seemed to have a way of breaking through Tony's veneer, leaving him unguarded and vulnerable.

"What are you thinking?" Ducky asked, his voice laced with meaning.

"He's not involved," Gibbs answered.

"But?" Ducky asked, going right to Gibbs' subtext.

"But he's got an agenda," he admitted.

"Agreed." Together, they both turned and studied the now empty room. Nothing more needed to be said.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx That Night xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Gibbs sighed as he placed the receiver back in its cradle, then ran a hand through his hair. Tony had just called to check in. 'That conversation could have gone better,' he told himself, as he walked over to the counter where he'd left his sandwich when the phone had rung.

When he'd asked Tony if he'd dealt with his father, Tony had quietly told him that they'd had a chat. There had been a tightness to Tony's voice that he hadn't liked. Ignoring his instinct, however, he'd just grunted out a "Good" and then asked about Sayif. There'd been a pause in the conversation, as if Tony had considered saying something else, and then he'd answered the question in a completely different voice – light and teasing - saying they were having a few issues, but that it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Gibbs had said, "What does that mean? I don't need any more dammed surprises today."

After another pregnant pause, Tony had said, "It doesn't mean anything, Gibbs. He wants to go out, but I'm handling it. Don't worry, I'm fresh out of surprises. Think I've supplied you with enough for one day, don't you?" All the humor had disappeared from his voice again, leaving him sounding young and raw.

Shit! That hadn't been what he'd meant. He hadn't intended to imply that all of the day's bullshit had somehow been Tony's fault. He'd been about to try to clarify that, when Tony interrupted his thoughts with a forced laugh.

"I'd better go, Boss. Last time I left him alone for more than a minute, he'd managed to call down and place an order with room service that probably left their wine cellar devoid of champagne. Who knows what he's done while we've been talking." Before he could answer, Tony had disconnected.

"Damn, damn and double damn!" he cursed out loud, as he slammed his fist down on the counter so hard that the plate bounced up in the air. Why was he so bad at finding the right thing to say to Tony? He knew how to talk to suspects and witnesses; why couldn't he get it right with the person who mattered most? Tony was in trouble, he knew that. His mood was vacillating too often, and too quickly. There'd been a manic quality to him at the hotel that morning, and Gibbs had hated the way he'd looked last time he'd seen him, back at Headquarters. He needed to find the right words, sooner rather than later.

Picking the sandwich plate up, he walked over to the garbage can that sat under the phone. Pressing down on the lever that opened the lid, he tipped the plate on its side, and let the sandwich slide off. Then he threw it into the sink, watching as it broke into little pieces. Empty and broken. If he wasn't careful that was going to be the description of his relationship with Tony. On that depressing note, he turned on his heel, strode out of the kitchen, and headed for his lonely bedroom.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Tuesday Morning xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Gibbs was already in a bad mood, even before he got up to Prince Sayif's hotel suite. He hadn't slept well the night before; he'd tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, and unable to squelch his growing concern for Tony. Running into DiNozzo Sr. on his way up had only served to aggravate him further. Talking to him was like watching an overly technical actor deliver his lines; the delivery was polished, but there wasn't any truth to it behind his eyes. So when the agent on guard duty opened the door, and he saw what was going on in the room, he thought his head would explode.

It was like walking into some bizarre upscale brothel. There was Sayif, sitting on a chair, wearing nothing but a robe, some half naked blonde bimbo perched on his lap. Clothes were strewn around the room, as were empty champagne bottles and food. Another lingerie clad woman lay passed out on a chaise lounge, a bottle of something clutched in her hand. And Tony was in the middle of the room, bent over at the waist, hands on the ground, wearing a cowboy hat, while some beautiful woman in skin tight workout clothes stood fondling his left leg as she held it up in the air.

"DiNozzo!" he barked.

"Boss," Tony stuttered, as he struggled to his feet. "It's not as bad as it looks." He managed to say a few more things, and Sayif calmly offered up breakfast, but Gibbs wasn't buying into any of it.

After snatching the stupid assed hat off of Tony's head, and telling them all that the party was over, he'd been unable to resist smacking Tony over the head with the hat, five times, and demanding an explanation. He'd barely listened to Tony's justification, and there was no telling what he would have said, had Sayif's older brother, Prince Abdalla, not appeared, announcing that their father, Prince Omar, was on his way up. As everyone scrambled to set the room to rights, Tony had managed to get his shoes and jacket on. Then he'd hustled Tony out of there, just in time to see the elevator doors open up, and watch as Prince Omar emerged, accompanied by none other than DiNozzo Sr.

All of his promises to himself, his pledges to do better with Tony, got pushed out the window by his rapidly rising blood pressure. Once they were alone in the hall, he whirled on his senior agent and hissed, "I told you to handle it!"

"I spoke to him. I think he's losing his hearing," Tony began, clearly trying for humor. That wasn't going to work, not this time.

"Give me a reason not to bench you," he snapped, and then glared at Tony, holding his eyes, searching. He needed to know that Tony could handle this, handle his father.

When Tony's eyes hardened, shuttering out any emotion, and he coldly announced, "I won't let him out of my sight," Gibbs let him go. This wasn't over, but he couldn't deal with it now. And neither could Tony…..

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Early Tuesday Afternoon xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

After he walked back into the bullpen, later that morning, to find DiNozzo Sr. sitting at Tony's desk, while Tony stood uneasily beside it, he'd almost said something, although he managed to hold his tongue. But when Senior tried to leave, and Tony started that whole ridiculous song and dance about Ziva giving him a special tour of Headquarters, all the while looking over at his desk to see how he was taking it, he'd had enough. This whole charade was, at least in part, his fault. He'd been the one to order Tony to keep his father under control, at the same time he was expecting him to do his job. That was unfair, and didn't even take into account whatever was going on with Tony under the surface. Knowing he couldn't let things stand as they were, he stood up and announced that he'd show the man around. Grabbing Senior's coat, scarf and hat off of Tony's file cabinet, he told Tony to get back to work, and led the man away.

His tour got them as far as the first interview room down the hall from the bullpen. Opening the door, Gibbs ushered Mr. DiNozzo inside. Maybe now wasn't the time to talk to Tony, but he was certainly ready to say a few things to his father.

"Sit," he said, patting a chair by the table as he walked to the other side.

Senior pointedly remained standing and asked him what was on his mind.

"Your son," Gibbs told him, keeping his voice as bland as possible.

That seemed to mollify the man. He immediately relaxed and smirked. As he magnanimously started to sit, he asked, "What has Junior done now?"

Tony and his father weren't the only two who could hide behind a mask. Gibbs smiled wryly, as he indulged himself for just an instant, thinking about how nice it would be to slam his fist directly into that bleached white, orthodontically enhanced smile. But that wouldn't really do any good. He'd feel better, but nothing would be resolved. He needed to know what game Senior was playing, and why now. And maybe, just maybe, he could do something to make this right for Tony.

"Tony likes to hide behind the face of a clown, but he's the best young agent I've ever worked with," he surprised himself by saying. He had a hard time telling Tony that, but it suddenly seemed very important that his father understand.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," DiNozzo Sr. smoothly said, settling back in his chair, although the smile on his face seemed to imply that he didn't believe Gibbs.

"When was the last time you talked to him? I mean, really talked to him," he added, when he saw the blank look on Senior's face. He wanted to see what the man would say, even though he knew in his gut the answer to that question was never.

"We keep in touch," was the too quick reply. Gibbs wanted to stand up and call him a liar, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. Instead he decided to try shame.

"Four years ago, your son came very close to dying from pneumonic plague; and I expected to see you…. You didn't show then, why are you here now?" he asked with a shrug, acting as if it was only idle curiosity that was driving that question.

"He never told me he was sick." 'Got you, you son of a bitch,' Gibbs thought.

"Oh, so you don't keep in touch?" he asked quickly, knowing he'd just won that round.

Senior's eyes became cold, his face masked, and Gibbs could tell he was trying to figure out where this conversation was heading. When Gibbs didn't say anything more, he was finally forced to ask, "What's your point?"

"Tony inherited his personality from you. But I get the feeling there's a lot about your life that you don't share." 'Go ahead and deny it you bastard,' Gibbs silently challenged him, as they stared at each other. Neither man was willing to look away, to give ground.

In the end, it was DiNozzo Sr. who broke the silence, when he leaned in and sneered, "I should tell you to piss off, but I do know that Junior thinks the world of you, so I'll keep this civil.… You have children, Gibbs?"

The question was like a body blow, and he had to work to keep from flinching. The last thing he wanted to do was tell him about Kelly; to sully her memory by discussing her with this sorry excuse for a father - a man who had a fine, honorable son, whom he had neglected and hurt. That was the reason he'd started this whole thing, he guessed, and yet he hadn't seemed to find the right words. He wasn't going to quit, though. If he gave in to the pain of her memory, backed out now, the whole thing would have been for naught.

"Had…. A daughter." There, he'd said it, and somehow, by saying it aloud, he knew exactly why he was having the conversation, and what else needed to be said. "But unfortunately…. I didn't get the chance to know her as an adult….You have that opportunity to get to know Tony….Do it." Gibbs stopped talking and just sat there, looking at the other man. He'd done what he could for Tony. He hoped he'd made his point. For a second there, he'd seen the man look down, as if he felt something real, but it hadn't lasted. There was nothing more to say. The rest was up to Senior, who was sitting there in front of him, his face completely unreadable.

"Are we finished?" was his cold reply, as he stood up to leave.

Gibbs didn't bother answering….

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Tuesday Night xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Gibbs was hustling to get the steak going. Tony had called just a few minutes ago, to say he was on his way over. He'd sounded just fine, but Gibbs was worried about how it had gone with his father. The man was like a snake, always wriggling, working to get himself out of any unpleasant situation he found himself in. When he'd walked into the bullpen with Abby on his arm, not long after he and Gibbs had had their little 'chat,' he'd been charm personified. Only the brief glare he'd leveled at Gibbs when he sauntered by, indicated that he had any memory of the encounter at all.

He had no idea what kind of shape Tony was truly in, whether he was really up to playing his father's game. He remembered how they'd sat in MTAC, waiting for the Under Secretary to come on line, Tony nervously twirling a pencil round and round in his hand. He'd gotten them there early, wanting to have a little time alone, to give Tony an opportunity to talk if he needed to. It had taken Tony a while, but finally he had broken the ice by apologizing for what had happened at the hotel. When Tony asked if he was forgiven - after he told Tony no – Gibbs had jumped on the chance to bring up DiNozzo Sr. That was the real problem; the one Tony was still avoiding discussing.

"You've been distracted by your father," he'd said to Tony.

He'd wanted to whack Tony's head when he'd asked, "It's that obvious?" Just because his father didn't pay any attention to him, didn't mean that Gibbs didn't. Of course, the mere fact that they were having that conversation proved his point. Normally Tony was very good at hiding what was bothering him. If Tony had been on point, there was a chance that, even after all these years together, Gibbs might not have realized how upset he was. It was even more disconcerting that Tony didn't realize that fact.

Then Tony had told him what he'd learned, how his father was flat broke, and had been for years. Even though he'd heard the hurt in his voice as he said his father's life was one big charade, Tony had seemed to get a little stronger as he went along, as if talking about it was actually helping. When Gibbs had asked, "What are you going to do about it?" Tony had looked directly at him and said, "End the game." He'd felt a bit better. Tony had gone on to say he'd confront the man when he tried to pay his hotel bill, but before Gibbs had gotten a chance to respond, Madame Under Secretary had come on line.

After that, there'd been no time to discuss it further. With the case broken wide open, they'd had to go back to the Adams to talk to Prince Omar, to tell him that one of his sons had knowingly tried to kill his own brother. Omar had already known. He'd packed up Abdalla, sent him to the airport, where he was protected by diplomatic immunity. Tony had been unusually adamant with him, stating that Abdalla should have to pay for what he'd done. Gibbs had wondered how much of that was really Tony's feelings about his father coming out.

When Prince Omar had said, "Fathers do what they have to do for their children," he had glanced over at Tony, in time to see him stiffen. The statement had hit home. Something had flashed across Tony's face, but then Omar had gone on to ask Tony to make his apologies to his father for him, and Tony had managed to hide whatever he'd been thinking.

Once they were out of the room, Tony had abruptly asked, "Are we done for the day?"

He'd said yes, but before he could get anymore out, Tony had said, "Then I'll see you later. I have something I need to do." That had been several hours ago….

As he knelt before the fireplace, checking on the steak, he heard the squeak of the front door.

"Hey, steak, cowboy style. I love it," Tony said, as he nonchalantly strolled in, set a six-pack of beer on the coffee table, and made room for himself on the couch, acting as if it had been just another day. 'So, this is how he wants to play it,' Gibbs thought. 'Well, that's not going to happen. Not this time, not anymore.'

"Father leave?" he asked.

"Yeah, should be in New York by now," Tony answered coolly. Gibbs cut the steak in half, giving Tony another chance to continue on his own. After they both had some, and Tony still hadn't said anything else, he pushed the issue.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked. There was no way Tony could sidestep that question.

"He skated again. The guy's amazing," Tony answered, just a little too cheerfully.

"So what happened?" He knew he couldn't leave it there.

Tony had smoothly launched into a song and dance about how Omar had picked up the tab at the hotel, and left his father an airline ticket to Monte Carlo. 'He probably rehearsed that little story all the way home,' Gibbs thought, as he listened to the lie. He couldn't let Tony get away with that deception. It was too much like what his father would have done – give a little smile, do a soft shoe, and make people forget that something wasn't right.

"Where'd you get the money, Tony?"

"What?" Tony tried sounding as if the idea was absurd.

When he glanced over at Tony, Gibbs could tell he was still looking for a way out of the conversation. There he sat, with an innocent look on his face. He held Tony's eyes, refusing to look away until Tony's expression changed. Slowly a sardonic little smile appeared.

"How do you do it?" Tony asked him. Gibbs knew he didn't really expect an answer. When the smile disappeared, Tony continued. "Well, I didn't really need to go on a cruise with my fraternity brothers, did I? Getting kind of old for that stuff."

A week ago, hearing Tony admit that would have made him smirk with satisfaction. Tonight it just hurt. Wasn't that ironic?

"You conned the con man. Runs in the family," he said. He didn't like the pain he saw in Tony's eyes, and wanted to coax another small smile from Tony. But he just couldn't let it end there, either; there was one more thing he needed to hear Tony say. "Why'd you do it?" he asked.

Tony looked at him, allowing Gibbs see the pain for just a moment, and said, "He's my father." He looked away then, and continued, "He is who he is. I couldn't bust him. Sometimes it's better to keep what you know to yourself."

Gibbs nodded in agreement, and reached out to clink his bottle against Tony's. "Amen," he said.

And he meant it. Tony was right; sometimes it was better to keep what you knew to yourself. But that depended on who you were talking to, and why.

Keeping secrets could also be destructive. Tony's father was a walking testimony to that reality. His whole life had been about keeping what he knew to himself, and look at the pain that had caused. He'd finally begun to grasp this today, when he'd forced himself to tell Senior about Kelly. He'd done that because sharing that secret had the potential of helping Tony. Tony was more important to him than keeping one of his deepest sorrows private. 'Christ, we have far too many secrets between us,' Gibbs realized. They'd even brought their own personal forms of emotional armor into their relationship – Tony with his clowning and joking, and he with his scowls and sarcasm. They had used them to deflect any time things got too intense. They'd let it get so out of control that now there was an entire set of unspoken rules about what could be discussed, and what had to be left alone. That couldn't go on. It had end, and now was the time…..

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**No More Hiding**

**Part Three  
**

When they were done eating, Tony picked up the dishes and carted them out to the kitchen. "What happened to the plate?" he called, his voice wafting into the living room.

'Damn,' Gibbs thought, 'he must have seen it in the trashcan.' Explaining what had happened was not the way to get Tony to relax and open up about his encounter with his father. "Nothing, broke it last night."

By the time Tony got back into the room, Gibbs had retrieved the pillow from the chair where Tony had tossed it, and was stretched out on his side, watching the fire. Tony took off his jacket, untucked his shirt, and then settled next to him, leaning back and using Gibbs as a cushion. They lay like this often, letting the flames from the fire burn away the residual tensions of the day. Gibbs wrapped his right arm around Tony's chest, in part to pull him closer, and in part to keep him from falling off the sofa. Neither man was small, and the sofa was only so large. They reclined like that for a long time, not talking, just enjoying the warmth from the fire and the shared body heat.

"Not the best day," Gibbs finally said quietly. One of the logs in the fireplace popped a couple of times, breaking the long silence that had followed his statement.

"Nope," Tony agreed, just as softly, then fell quiet again. Gibbs lay there, studying the tiny sparks that floated up off the fire, waiting. He'd opened the door, and would see if Tony accepted the invitation.

"Look, I know I fucked up, Jethro. Feel free to relegate me to the couch tonight as punishment. After all, the pillow's already here," Tony said, tempering the admission with humor. Trust Tony to disguise his true feelings behind a joke. That he felt the need to be punished tore at Gibbs. 'Haven't the events of the day been punishment enough? Of course, it was me who told Tony he wasn't forgiven,' he realized guiltily. He should have known Tony wouldn't have forgotten.

"Not gonna punish you," he mumbled, and they lapsed back into silence. Gibbs knew he could pursue it if he wanted, bring up Tony's behavior at the hotel, ask him what the hell had possessed him, but that wasn't really what they needed to talk about tonight. Tony knew that had been stupid, no real reason to reiterate the point.

"You should," Tony interrupted his thoughts by saying. Well maybe this wasn't the conversation he'd wanted, but he guessed he'd take what he could get.

"Why's that, Tony?" he asked. From the position they were in, he could just barely see Tony close his eyes.

"Because I let it get out of control." His voice was flat and expressionless.

Gibbs shifted a fraction, freeing his left arm, which he then wrapped around Tony's waist. He wished they were lying chest to chest, so he could see Tony's face more clearly.

"Yeah, you did," he agreed.

Nothing else was said for so long that Gibbs began to think Tony had fallen asleep. The fire was burning down, and the room was beginning to chill. Gibbs was just about to try and rouse Tony when he heard, "What did you say to him?"

No need to specify which "him," he was just surprised that Tony had been the one to bring it up. This was what he'd wanted to discuss earlier, when Tony had derailed his intent by bringing up the mess with Sayif. 'What was Tony thinking about while we lay here?' he wondered; 'what got him to this point?'

"I told him he should take the opportunity to get to know you," he told him.  
Tony snorted quietly. "Bet he loved that suggestion."

'Isn't much point in lying,' Gibbs thought. "It pissed him off," he told him.

"Yeah," was all Tony said, the word sharp and resentful, although Gibbs knew it wasn't directed at him.

"Want to go upstairs?" Gibbs asked.

"Not yet. How about I stoke the fire?" Tony offered.

"Sure." He loosened his grip on the younger man, so he could get up. Gibbs watched as Tony stirred the dying embers, then lifted another large log and some kindling from the pile next to the fireplace and put them on the hot coals. He loved the grace of Tony's movements, the economy. Gibbs could happily watch him for hours, but he could tell from Tony's face that his thoughts were far removed from this room.

Once the log was in place, Tony stood in front of the fire for a few minutes, ostensibly to ensure that they lit, but Gibbs knew he was also using the time to pull himself together. When he returned to the sofa and started to lie back down, Gibbs reached out and pulled him down so that they were facing each other. Tony buried his head in Gibbs' shoulder, as Gibbs enveloped him with his arms. 'We are good at this,' Gibbs thought bitterly. They had no problems with physical closeness; too bad the same couldn't be said about their ability to let down any of their emotional defenses.

When Tony was completely settled in, Gibbs slid his hand under his shirt and ran his fingers up and down his back. He could feel the tension in Tony's back. He continued stroking slowly. Finally Tony shivered and made a little trilling sound in the back of his throat, then slowly allowed his body to melt into Gibbs'. It would have been so easy to take things to the next level, to press just a little harder, to let his fingers slide southward, under the waistband of Tony's pants and over the firm mounds of Tony's ass. It was so tempting; a few deep kisses, his mouth trailing off as it worked its way down Tony's neck, a quick turn, until Tony was lying under him, and in a matter of minutes they would be coupled, pushing away all the ugliness of the day as their bodies struggled to find release. But he wouldn't. He couldn't; because in the end, when it was over, after they had lain there silently clutching each other as their breathing steadied, when they rolled over and closed their eyes to rest, it would all slowly begin to creep back – the insecurities, the hurt, the worry. It always did.

He needed to say something, something more than awkwardly asking if Tony was alright. He'd done that before when he knew Tony was upset, and the answer was always yes. Not the best interrogation technique – question asked, question answered – nowhere to go from there. He'd never pushed; content to tell himself that he'd 'tried'. He owed it to Tony, to 'them' to do better.

"What did he say to you?" he said softly, as he slid his other hand up into Tony's hair. 'There, Investigative Procedures 101: Lesson One – Ask a question that requires more than a yes or no answer,' he thought with satisfaction.

"Screw him." Tony pushed his head back against his hand, arching his neck so that Gibbs' fingers slid to the top of his head where Tony loved to feel them cord through the strands of his hair, and ground his groin hard against Gibbs', causing him to instinctively press back. 'Damn,' Gibbs cursed to himself, 'he just used 'Investigative Procedures 101: Lesson Two - Use distraction to avoid questions that might lead in the wrong direction.'

"Not likely to happen." 'Hah, Lesson Three (Tony's favorite) - Use humor to win over the witness,' but any further thought was driven away when Tony lifted his head and captured his lips in a searing kiss. Tony finally broke off the kiss and, with their foreheads touching, rubbed his nose gently against Gibbs'.

Refusing to let himself be distracted, Gibbs murmured, "Tell me."

When he started to lower his mouth to Gibbs' again, Gibbs brought both his hands up and gently cupped Tony's face, right before their lips touched. "Tell me," he softly demanded again.

Tony tried to turn his head away, but Gibbs' hands prevented that. Looking directly into his eyes, he whispered, "Tell me, Tony."

Tony's eyes began to shine as tears welled up. Suddenly, without warning, he wrenched his face out of Gibbs' hands, pushed himself away, and sprang to his feet. "Just leave it alone," he choked out in an anguished voice.

"Can't," Gibbs told him, as his gut clenched in empathic pain.

"I don't want to talk about it," Tony said tightly, his back to Gibbs.

"You need to," Gibbs said, sitting up but making no move to approach him.

"You're a fine one to talk," Tony shouted, spinning around and glaring at Gibbs, before he started to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Tony was right. He'd spent years hiding his most intimate thoughts and feelings, working alone in the basement, trying to sand them into oblivion. If he expected Tony to open up, he was going to have to give something back too. "I told him about Kelly," he said.

Tony froze.

"I wanted him to know how easily it can all slip away," he explained.

They'd never talked about Kelly and Shannon, just like they'd never really discussed what had happened that brought their existence to light - the bomb, the coma, the amnesia, his subsequent retirement. After he'd come back, and his memory had returned, Tony had already been seeing Jeanne. He hadn't said anything, and neither had Tony. Hollis Mann had been a convenient alternative, although she couldn't replace Tony. Even when Tony's car was blown up, and the whole undercover mission had been exposed, he still hadn't said anything. If it hadn't been for that case, the one with the kidnapped baby, they might never have gotten back together. But that evening, when he'd watched Tony - sitting in front of that fireplace, water from the sprinkler dripping down his nose – as he pulled that damned letter from Jeanne out of his pocket, the one he'd been fingering all day, and tossed it in the fire, he knew he had to try.

Later that night, when it had only been he and Tony left in the bullpen, he'd gone over to Tony's desk and asked, "Want to grab a pizza?"

Tony'd looked up at him, his face unreadable, and then slowly he'd nodded. "Sure, I'll even bring the beer."

That had been their big make-up scene. Oh, they'd said things like, 'missed you' in the heat of passion, but they had never really talked about what had happened. They'd picked up where they'd left off; and if they spent more time with each other, did little things to show they cared - like the unexplained appearance of a brand new flat screen TV in Gibbs' den so that Tony didn't have to watch his shows on an old twelve inch television, or the beautiful length of imported African mahogany wood that suddenly materialized in the basement – it was never discussed.

"He told me that he loved me," Tony's voice cracked as he spoke, "and I couldn't tell if it was just another con I hadn't figured out yet."

"Aw, hell Tony," Gibbs breathed, as he stood up and pulled the younger man into his arms. Tony wrapped his arms tight around Gibbs, and stood there clinging to him.

"I didn't say anything; I wasn't sure what to say. How can you love someone you don't really know?" He let his head drop on Gibbs' shoulder after he said that.

Gibbs had no answer for him. That was what he was afraid of. How can you fully love someone you don't really know? What constituted really knowing someone? It was more than knowing what they did all day, what their likes and dislikes were. It was understanding their dreams and their fears, sharing equally in their pains and triumphs. And although he believed that he and Tony did understand each other, there were things they hadn't shared, and they were the poorer for it.

"I don't know the answer to that," he finally said, as he steered them back to the couch and gently pulled Tony down next to him, never letting go of his hold on him.

When they were both comfortable, he pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead. "I don't tell you everything I should," he then said.

"That's not true," Tony began.

Interrupting him, Gibbs went on, "And you don't tell me everything you should, either." He kissed Tony then, to stop him from arguing and to take away the sting from his words. "But we can do better. I can do better." Again he kissed him. "You should have felt free to share this with me. And I should have told you about my family." One more kiss. "I told him you were the finest young agent I'd ever worked with, and I meant it. What I didn't tell him was that you were one of the finest men I've ever known, but I should have, because it's true."

This time it was Tony who kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. They didn't talk again for a long while. Gibbs let go of Tony long enough to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his body, while Tony worked to remove his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath. Their pants came off even faster, and soon Tony was lying on the sofa, his head resting on the pillow, the back cushions tossed carelessly aside to give them more room. Gibbs was above him, tracing his tongue over Tony's face, wanting to lick away the remnants of errant tears that had escaped when he had told him about his father. They ran their hands over every inch of the other's body, needing the tangible connection. As they touched, their lovemaking changed from gentle to something more urgent and primal. Their bodies slicked with sweat, groans permeated the room. When Gibbs finally entered Tony, with one hard thrust, he reached down and grasped Tony's head once more. He wanted to see him, to look inside him, to watch as his need built along with his own; and he wanted Tony to see the same things. And in the moment just before, as Tony's body tightened and throbbed, as he reached down with one hand and encircled Tony's cock, he whispered, "Love you."

"Love you, too," Tony gasped as he began to spill out over his hand, at the same time Gibbs erupted. "Love you, love you, love you," he chanted as he came. By the time he was done the chant had become sobs, but the words were the same. "Love you, love you, love you," Tony cried softly.

Gibbs let go of his face, and pulled his body up to his own. When Tony wrapped his arms tightly around him and buried his face in his chest, ignoring his own discomfort from their position, he rocked Tony as he wept.

Slowly Tony's sobs subsided, and they both sank back down onto the cushions. Tony looked up at him, smiled slightly, and reached up to touch Gibbs' face. "We've turned into a fucking Lifetime movie of the week. True confessions and tears."

Gibbs wasn't exactly sure what Lifetime was, but he got the gist. "Not bad for a functional mute, huh?" he asked him.

"You couldn't have heard me…." Tony gasped in surprise.

Gibbs chuckled. "I didn't. I overheard McGee use it. Knew he'd never have come up with that on his own. I was sure he'd gotten it from you." He leaned forward and kissed Tony again, softly and slowly, his tongue lightly tracing his lips.

Later that night, as they lay in his bed, Tony sound asleep in his arms, he thought about what had happened. They weren't there yet, but they'd made a start. They weren't suddenly going to start spouting their every thought and feeling, and that was fine; more than fine. But maybe, just maybe, they would be able to talk about the big things, the things that needed to be discussed. Being careful not to jostle Tony too much, Gibbs reached over and switched off the bedside light. Then, after pulling the covers up a little higher over Tony's shoulders, he kissed the sleeping man, and closed his own eyes.


End file.
